


Mellifluous (Drabble)

by pressedinthepages



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, geralts sexy voice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24262714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedinthepages/pseuds/pressedinthepages
Summary: Geralt shows the reader that his mouth feels lovely on her, but his voice feels even better.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 135





	Mellifluous (Drabble)

**Author's Note:**

> Reader request: Could you do 66 and 102 for the smut prompt with geralt? 💕💕
> 
> ahh nonnie, someone who truly understands the importance of Geralt’s voice. someone after my own heart <3 thanks for the request!

You’re sweating, writhing under his touch as your fingers rove to wind themselves in the ashen hair of the Witcher between your thighs. As soon as you set up camp for the evening, Geralt pulled you to lay at the base of a tree, hiking up your skirts as he lowered to the ground. He has been devouring you for the better part of an hour, bringing you right to the brink but never letting you fall, pulling you back from the bliss you so desperately seek. Your fingers tighten in his hair, scratching lightly on his scalp and he moans against you, deep and dark as the night sky above you. You feel yourself drip, Geralt eagerly lapping every drop you could give him.   
“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you moan…” you murmur, thinking back on your prior dalliances. Geralt has never been a very vocal man, and he’s not much different during sex. He grunts, huffs, and occasionally grates a “Fuck,” but never allowed himself to get so lost in the pleasure that he vocalizes longer. “It was like a fucking melody.”  
You look down and meet his gaze, eyes brighter than the absent sun, and take him in. The flames from the fire are radiating light, kissing the sharp lines of his face and falling in the shadows. Geralt has his arms wrapped around your legs, holding you open and keeping you still, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. His hair has come loose from the tie that had been holding it back, wild and tangled around your fingers. His cheeks are flushed (as much as a Witcher’s could be, anyway,) and his eyes are glazed over, fucked out on the taste and smell of you.   
At your words, you feel him smirk against you and readjust, slipping one of his arms from your leg and down to your cunt. He presses a finger inside of you, quickly adding a second as his mouth and tongue take on a new fervor. Your back arches, pulling a sound from deep in your belly at the fast-approaching crest of the wave of your pleasure. Your legs move of their own accord, thighs tightening around Geralt’s head, hips rocking against his tongue and fingers as he lightly hums another moan against your cunt.   
“I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that,” you beg between gritted teeth, feeling yourself flutter around his fingers, “please…”  
And then all at once, he crooks his fingers inside of you, brushes his teeth against the bundle of nerves at your core, and growls into your cunt, all smoke and gravel and wanting, and you plummet from the edge, falling, falling, falling through the sky. You feel the stars burn inside of you and feel the wind kiss everywhere and nowhere all at once. The sound he pulls from you is low, full of honey and relief and yearning for more, more.   
Geralt slows his movements, prolonging your pleasure for as long as he can. He pulls his fingers from you as you come back to yourself, moving his mouth away from your center so as to not push you too far past the brink. His grip on your hips relaxes, rubbing soothing circles as he leaves a trail of smoldering kisses along your thighs and back up your stomach. He hovers over you, and you lean up to meet his lips. His kiss is blinding and breathtaking, a hungry black hole that you so desperately want to feed. You taste your slick on his lips, something sharp and sweet that rekindles the fire settled in your stomach. You run your hands along the swell of his arms, feel the almost too slow heartbeat thrumming in his chest, and sigh into the kiss.  
Geralt pulls back, a small smirk on his lips and a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oh love,” he grumbles, sending a fresh wave of heat straight to your core, “we’re just getting started.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading :) you can find me on tumblr @thefishmongersdaughterwrites


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